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“It’s fine.” I cleared my throat. “It looks good on you. Keep it.” I turned to head upstairs.
“Adam?”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
She bit the inside of her lip, obviously wrestling with whatever was going on inside that pretty little head of hers. “Truce?”
I gripped the handrail on the stairs, studying her face. “I didn’t know we were fighting.”
Her brow dropped in annoyed confusion. I was digging my hole deeper, but that was probably a good thing to protect us in this fucked-up situation.
I offered a half shrug. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re all good, Faith.” I forced a smile. “I’m gonna go get cleaned up, then I’ve got some errands to run before work, so I’ll probably be gone till late.”
I didn’t wait around for her response as I took the stairs two at a time up to the apartment. I showered and changed, making sure I had Mateo’s cash safely tucked into my jacket before I dashed out with a quick goodbye. If I had any hope of getting us out of this, I had to get this charade over with, and that meant heading straight into the lion’s den.
And there was no time like the present.
I rode my bike around town, past Rudy’s, which was empty at this time of day, and through the swamps, to the warehouse district and just past the old meat packing plant. I knew where the operations used to be, and if I’d learned anything in lockup, it was that scumbags may adapt to avoid detection, but ingrained habits remained. Leopards and spots and all that.
“Bingo,” I murmured as I rolled up on a mostly abandoned construction site with a large warehouse and several gravel pits. A few cars were parked in the shadows of the warehouse and dim light trickled through the blacked-out windows.
I slowed my roll as I approached the chain-link fence and gate, only to have a guard step out with an automatic weapon aimed at my chest. “Hold it!”
I hit the brake and planted one foot on the ground as I lifted my hands in a nonthreatening gesture before slowly taking off my helmet.
“Who the fuck are you?” he growled.
I flicked the building a look, my eyes now adjusting to the light, and was pretty sure I made out Bastien Guidry’s Caddy, though I couldn’t be sure.
“I asked you a question, asshole.” He stepped forward, his gun ominously close now.
“Bishop,” I said. “Adam Bishop.” I waited to see if my name rang any bells. Guess not. “Tell Guidry I need to talk to him.”
“Get the hell—”
“It’s about the cash the reverend owes Pittman,” I cut him off. “I’ve got information, but I’m only giving it to Bastien or Cyrus.” I leaned back and crossed my arms. “So, you can call them and tell them I’m here, or next time I run into them in town, I can tell them their fuckwad of a guard ran me off and cost them a fuck ton of cash.”
He studied me for a long moment. I watched the thoughts roll around in his tiny brain until he finally came to the smart decision and his finger relaxed on the trigger, moving to the safety. “Stay here,” he commanded.
I nodded once with a smirk. I wasn’t going anywhere.
He moved a few feet away, pulled out his cell, and made a call, shooting me several shitty looks as he spoke under his breath. Finally, he hung up and walked back over. “Okay,” he said. “Go ahead. Mr. Guidry says you’ve got five minutes. If it’s not good, he’s putting a bullet between your eyes.” He obviously took pleasure in repeating his employer’s words.
“I only need two.” I smacked my helmet back on and gunned it through the gate and up to the warehouse.
Guidry met me outside, cocked back on his heels, his hands firmly in the pockets of his chinos like he slept in dress clothes. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Bishop,” he said when I cut my engine and stepped off, putting my helmet on the seat.
I didn’t acknowledge that. Instead, I sauntered right up to him, looked him dead in the eye, pulled the wad of cash from my jacket, and smacked it against his chest.
He glanced down as if it were nothing more than a pesky insect. “What’s this?”
“Fifteen thousand dollars.”
He took it from me and opened the envelope, peering inside before looking back up at me. “Where did you get this?”
“I told you I had an in with Faith McMasters,” I said, sidestepping his question. “You want the money you say the reverend owed you? I can get it from her. There’s proof.” I lifted a brow. “I just need time.”
“Time?”
